


Obliviate

by SkyOfDust



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:22:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyOfDust/pseuds/SkyOfDust
Summary: Harry copes after the war. Or tries to. And Charlie wishes to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Healing the Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666456) by [WL_Erkling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling). 



> So I had this idea after reading Healing the Dragon there : http://archiveofourown.org/works/7666456   
> And I wrote this VERY quickly, just needed to get it out of my mind.  
> Hope you'll like it =D

They had met on several occasions. And Charlie couldn't say that he actually knew the boy, but he had a glimpse of him through his family, through their few encounters, through his own eyes that were watching carefully as the boy grinned at the Quidditch match, and ran a hand through his messy hair when Hermione admonished him for not taking his OWL 's seriously, through what he heard from the newspaper « The Chosen One » « The Boy Who Lived ». He fought a basilisk to save Charlie's sister, he'd save Ron's life when Draco's poor attempt at killing Dumbledore failed, he rebelled against Umbridge. Everything he heard, everything he saw helped him make a clear sight of who the Chosen One was. He had admired the boy for his courage, for his strength. God knew he never met anyone braver than the kid. And then the kid had grown up into that man. Oh, he wasn't very different. The same disheveled hair, the same glasses that hid big green eyes, the same pout on his lips because he really had a bad temper. Always angry, always snapping at his friends, but then, who could blame him ? He was the Chosen One. From eleven to seventeen he was meant to fight the most powerful Dark Lord the wizarding World ever knew. And he succeeded.

So the boy became that man, and then that man became a ghost. The war was over now. Charlie had returned for Fred's funeral. That's when he met Harry, the real Harry. Maybe the boy had waited, all these years, to be freed of the burden that was his to finally let go of everything. Or maybe the shadows of the last battle killed his light. Fred, Remus, Tonks, added to Sirius, Dumbledore, James, Lily, Hedwig, Cedric. All those deaths. And one more, that might be the one that changed the boy forever. Harry died too, that day.

He was just a shadow at the Burrow. He didn't let go of a single tear, not at Fred's funeral, not when he broke up with Ginny, not when Ron and Hermione left him to find the girl's parents in Australia. It was like there was nothing left inside. Not even enough pain to say that Harry was somehow still alive.

Charlie couldn't say why he stayed after then. He didn't return to Romania. He just saw George sink into his own sorrow after the loss of his twin brother, his mother cry every day at lunch when she saw the empty seat, his father lower his head before so much sadness because he felt helpless, Percy was gone for his fucking duties at the Ministry, Bill had a daughter to take care of, Ginny returned to Hogwarts and Ron was gone. There was no one left but him to look after the boy. Or the man. Or the ghost.

No one thought of celebrating Harry's eighteenth birthday. They knew it was useless. Ron and Hermione came back eventually, but they just couldn't handle Harry's emptiness. After the war, they needed happiness, they needed to cling together and seek what was refused to them all this time. Accepting Harry in their life, in his state, was just too much to ask.

A year passed by. Harry didn't leave the Burrow. He didn't answer to the Ministry letters, instead incendio'ed them with a wave of his wand, not even bothering to have a look at them.

All this time, Charlie was there. Of course there also was Arthur and Molly. George eventually returned to his shop, saying he would never let it close, in memory of Fred. Molly made sure Harry ate enough, Arthur made sure to remind the boy of the reality around them : sooner or later he will have to leave the Burrow, find a job and live his life. But Charlie was more like an angel watching over Harry. He just brushed his shoulder with his fingertips when he passed near him, just letting him know his was there, in the real world, waiting for him. He would escort the boy to his bed every night, knocked at his door every morning to wake him up. He would talk to him too. A lot. Charlie talked a lot.

He talked about his new job in Britain, which he found quite cool, though he missed Romania and dragons a lot. He talked about his past adventures, he talked about his past lovers, about his childhood with so many siblings, he talked about the world too, to give Harry something to hold onto. Harry didn't talk much of course. He was listening. Or maybe not, who cared ? Sometimes he asked questions when a particular story raised the slightest interest in his chest. Sometimes he smiled, though Charlie knew all too well that those smiles were never true.

He hid like this for two years at the Burrow. After a while, the press declared Harry Potter had abandoned the Wizarding World and was living a happy life in some secluded town in the countryside. He was less loved then, as everyone thought the brave Chosen One just left them without so much as an explanation of what happened, to deal with the rest of the Death Eaters and the damaged Ministry they had to rebuild. They all tried to discover how the battle, how the war, ended the way it ended. But there was no Harry Potter to tell, to testify, to answer questions with a bright smile and pretty lies or ugly truth.

After two years, Arthur thought it was about time.

"Harry, I think we're not helping you letting you stay here and… haunt that house. It is time for you to return to the world. You had enough rest, now. You have a week to leave."

Molly's lips were a thin line when he spoke, but she didn't say anything. Charlie screamed, a lot. Harry was family. He had every right to stay at the Burrow. But Arthur was convinced he was helping the boy. The man.

So Harry disappeared one day. Without even a goodbye. His stuff was gone, so was he. And Charlie felt terribly empty. He moved too. He bought a new flat in London. It was too late to return to Romania anyway, he'd just got used to this way of life now, to his job, to his routine. Two weeks after Harry's disappearance, he knocked at the 12, Grimmauld Place. No one answered and the door was locked with strong spells. He kept coming, every day, knocking slightly at the door, waiting, and then leaving. Sometimes he left something on the porch. Food, firewhiskey, some weird treat he had bought to George. It was not after a month that the door cracked open and Harry's face appeared.

"Charlie." he just said. "Come in."

Charlie did. And then he suddenly remembered it all. The light in green shimmering eyes as Harry watched his first Quidditch match. The loud laughter that burst out of him everytime he would beat the Whisleys at any game they invented, broomsticks involved. That spark in his gaze at the TriWizard tournament, before he collected the egg from the dragon. The boy was a man now. So Charlie leant and kissed him before he could think twice about it. For three long seconds, Harry was frozen, and then his lips moved slowly on Charlie's and the Weasley deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to lick at everything not out of reach. His arms wrapped around the boy and pulled him close and Harry let go of a moan.

Charlie drew away, just to look at the emerald eyes. And his heart skipped a beat when he saw something there, something smooth, something weak, but something more than shadow. So he just kissed again, with more passion, trying to draw light again in the kid's – the man's – pupils. Hands were lifting his shirt, nails were scratching his back, teeth were bruising his lips. Seemed like Harry wanted it rough. And Charlie was happy to comply.

They stumbled to the bedroom and fell on the bed, already half naked and totally aroused.

"Pants !" Harry said as he untied the laces of Charlie's trousers. Seconds later, they were both fully naked, their cock rubbing against each other.

"Want you inside me, Charlie."

It was almost there. The light in his eyes. Charlie would do anything to see it again. So he cast a spell that coated his fingers with a slick substance and teased at Harry's entrance.

"Don't !" Harry warned and Charlie was lost for a few seconds, until he understood what the boy meant.

He shoved his finger inside without so much as a warning and began stretching Harry's tight slick hole. Another finger was added and Charlie scissored them inside Harry, eliciting moans and grunts and the boy writhed and shuddered under his touch.

"Enough !" Harry ordered.

"You're still too tight, Harry. I don't want to hurt you."

But Harry's hand batted his away.

"You, inside me, now."

Charlie nodded, coating his hard cock with the rest of the slick and then guided himself to that tight entrance between Harry's legs. He pushed forward, slowly, not stopping despite Harry's grunts of pain until he was buried to the hilt. Then he pulled out a bit, and in again, slowly. Harry was so hot, so tight around him, so wet and slick, and the sight of his own cock disappearing into this beautiful body, it was overwhelming. But he stayed focused, searching for that spot within Harry that would make him cry in his arms. He changed the angle as he thrusted forward, until instead of a grunt of pain, he heard a moan of pleasure. And he began thrusting fast and hard, and he reveled in the noises that Harry made under him, as he rocked back against Charlie's cock. But it wasn't hard enough for the boy, who demanded more, it wasn't faster enough for the man who ordered for more. So Charlie complied, and the room was filled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and the gasps, the moans, the shouts. One leg on Charlie's shoulder, Harry was flushed, sweaty, panting heavily, but damn, his eyes were closed and Charlie frowned.

"Open your eyes for me, please" Charlie begged before he leaned in for a kiss.

Harry did open his eyes. There it was. The light. Finally there it was. But as heat surged through Charlie's body, while he was fisting Harry's hard cock so they could come together, he realized it was not the light he'd been searching for. Harry was alive under him. Alive with anger and sorrow, with wrath and sadness, with excruciating pain and agony. Was that the price to pay to make him live again ? See him suffer even in the strong arms of a lover, so close to his climax ?

They came explosively and Charlie collapsed on his lover, before he rolled and leaned on his back beside Harry. He looked at him again. The light was gone.

"Harry, love. Do one thing for me. Close your eyes."

Harry didn't protest and obeyed, even though Charlie had asked him to open his eyes not a few minutes ago. Charlie reached for his wand and sat up on the bed. He really was going to do this. Maybe it would make things more complicated. There was no telling where sadness began and happiness ended. Charlie knew Harry had been happy at Hogwarts with his friends. So he reached a different target.

"Obliviate" he whispered.

He reached his memories of Sirius, and erased them all. He reached the memories of Dumbledore, the secret meetings in the office, the shared glance, the trust and the betrayal, the fall from the astronomy tower, and erased it all. He reached the night in the graveyard with Cedric Diggory, and erased it easily.

Everything that could bring sadness was erased. And in the end, Charlie realised there was nothing left to remain. He erased every trace of Fred and George, and that meant every minute Harry spent at the Burrow or elsewhere with the Weasley family. Their first meeting at the Quidditch match, erased. The TriWizard tournament, erased. Fleur and Bill's wedding, where they exchanged flirting looks before it ended up so badly, erased. The months spent on the run with Hermione and Ron, gone. And, finally, the two last years, vanished. There was nothing left of Charlie.

Maybe he erased a bit of happiness too. He was quite sure of it. But it was collateral damage. Soon enough, Harry would build new memories – happy ones now that they got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Charlie retrieved his clothes on the floor, dressed up and disapparated. He would never see Harry again. Of course without all those memories, without all those battles and that need for bravery, he was no longer the boy – the man – Charlie had fallen for. It was time to return to Romania. So he did. And never heard of Harry or his family again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, don't hesitate to share your feelings about that, I always answer the comments.


End file.
